The Anatomy of Soup
by Laatija
Summary: The crew is down with the cold and its up to River and Simon to take care of them. River discoveres something not-so-new...soup. A feel good one-shot.


Disclaimer: I do not own Firefly. Sigh and sadness...

The Anatomy of Soup

River cocked her head and stretched over the bubbling, steaming pot, standing on tiptoes to stretch further. A cloud of condensed water vapor bathed her face.

"River! Be careful," Simon scolded. Always scolding. Always the big bothersome brother. "The steam could be hot; it might burn your face."

"Water vapor. Condenses to droplets when it cools. Not hot enough to burn, Simon," she mumbled absentmindedly while she leaned in closer to smell. "Basil, cayenne pepper…potatoes."

"Grandmother Tam's soup. Do you remember it?" Simon asked as he gently butted her to the side to stir the concoction with a wooden spoon. River frowned.

"No," she said firmly. "Grandmother Tam was an ugly old woman." Simon smiled ruefully.

"Yes, well, she made a good soup," he insisted. River danced a few steps to the table, picking up a carrot and carelessly slicing it with one of Jayne's knives that she produced from some hidden sheath under her ratty summer dress.

"Ugly old woman. Her tongue was wrinkly like the rest of her skin. Taste buds all shriveled up." River stared sideways at her brother. "Crazy Simon."

"Yes, crazy me," Simon said with a sigh. "Well, _I_ like her soup. And don't slice off your fingers. I'm not sewing them back on."

"You have to sew them on again," River insisted, with a frown.

"Not necessarily. I mean, a fingerless sister might be a good thing. She wouldn't be able to interfere with my cooking," Simon shrugged, his face deadpan. River scowled.

"Simon!" she shrieked. "You wouldn't!"

"Better not cut off your fingers." Simon tossed a handful of fresh leafy green things into the pot. River started slicing the carrots again, much slower than before.

"Why?" she suddenly asked.

"Because, you wouldn't like having no finger—"

"Why soup?" River asked.

"Well, the crew isn't feeling good right now so I'm making them soup. We're just lucky that we have some fresh vegetables to cook with," Simon explained.

"Why not give them medicine?"

"Well, I am giving them that too."

"…so why soup?"

Simon sighed and ran a hand across his sweaty forehead. "Because soup makes people feel better."

River frowned as she brought over a handful of carrot slices to the pot. She plopped them in one by one, intrigued by the sound they made. "Soup isn't medicine. Shouldn't make a difference. Food makes you feel better if you're starving or malnourished. Makes no difference if you sick or not. If you want to heal them with food, you should provide a balanced diet of fruits and vegetables with few proteins and grains. Green tea and citrus foods. Antioxidants." River rummaged around in the cupboards for a tin of green tea. She popped off the lid and reached her arm out over the pot, ready to dump it in. Simon lunged for her and caught her wrist.

"River! No!"

"Simon," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "I need to make this healthy for sick people." River jerked her hand. Simon held fast.

"Soup isn't necessarily for physical health," he insisted, pulling her arm down and prying the tin away.

"But it will help the bodies to heal."

"But it will taste horrible."

River glared at her brother. "But that doesn't make sense. How can soup make people feel better if it doesn't heal their bodies?"

"It's…for emotional health," Simon explained.

"How? Not psychiatric help. Not a relationship. Simon, soup isn't therapy." She gave him a frustrated sigh.

"It's comforting. When you're sick, what do you want most?"

"To be well again," River insisted. Simon sighed.

"Well, apart from that, you want to be comfortable. Good food is comforting," Simon said. He dropped a handful of minced onions into the pot and gave it a stir. River threw in a pinch of salt.

"Medicine."

"What?"

"When I'm sick, I want medicine. Want to feel well again. Want not to hear…voices in my head," she mumbled. Simon's hand faltered over the pot, the handful of cooked meat plopping noisily, splashing scalding broth onto his skin. "But I think I understand," River finally said. "Illness is often associated with being cold and malnourished. Silly name; cold. Cold doesn't make you ill. Soup is warm. Warms up your insides. Your insides take up lots of energy to fight the sickness. Needs carbohydrates for energy. Needs vegetables for vitamins. Water to keep organs from shriveling. Soup includes them all, not racist. Saves room. Good because sickness likes to tie up the stomach in knots; makes you vomit. Then the soup comes back again. But that's not fit for eating." River took the spoon from Simon and took a taste of the broth. "It needs pepper." Simon stared at her, his mouth open in amazement. Silly Simon. He should know this already.

"Doc, you letting your kwong-juh duh sister cook for us?" Mals voice pulled at her attention. River cocked her head and stared at him. The man was pale and sweaty and clutched a blanket tightly around his shoulders.

"I'm keeping an eye on her, captain," Simon promised.

"Well…good. I don't aim to expire from this sickness so it'd be a shame to die from food poisoning, dong ma? I'd be a might bit put off," Mal insisted. He sniffed up a dribble of snot that had started to drip out of his nose.

"Da-shiang bao-tza shr duh lah doo-tze," River informed him. Both men stared at her. Mal blinked lethargically.

"Um…captain, you should probably get some rest. I'll bring you some food when it's ready," Simon finally said. Mal sniffed again.

"Yeah, whatever. Don't leave the dear Mei-mei alone with the vittles." With that, Mal shuffled away. River leaned over far to watch him stumble along the corridor. She suddenly straightened, face twisted up.

"Something's coming," she told Simon. Like the brother he was, Simon let go of the spoon and immediately turned his attention to her, concern etching his face.

"What's coming, River? What's the matter?"

She didn't answer. It was building. Building up inside her. Ready to explode.

"River?" Simon had grabbed her arms, turning her head to look at him. It…it was about to…to explode.

"AHH-CHOO!" Yellowish snot spewed everywhere as she gave a mighty sneeze. She sniffed. "Yuck," River mumbled as she wiped mucus from her face. Simon closed his eyes for a second, biting his lip in either a play for patience or to keep from laughing; she couldn't tell which.

"River, why don't you go lie down in your room before your brains start leaking out," Simon said calmly. A smile picked at his lips. She pouted.

"Not funny, Simon. My nose exploded."

"You'll be fine," he insisted. "I'll be in to give you some medicine in a little bit."

River nodded and slowly made her way out of the kitchen. She held a hand to her nose. Wouldn't stop leaking. Couldn't have it leaking. Might leak brains. That wouldn't be good. Brain was melty enough without that. Needed some medicine to stop the leaking. Had to stop it soon. Get well again."Simon?"

"Yes, River?"

"I need some soup."

He smiled. "Ok, I'll bring you some when it's done."

"Simon?"

"Yes, River?"

"My won't leak out, will they?"

"No, they won't leak out."

River nodded. She trotted off. Off to sleep and take medicine. And eat soup.

**Fin.**


End file.
